I wake to the sun filtering in between the curtains of my room. I get out of bed and wash my face, then leave my chambers for breakfast. The maid brings me my breakfast, a beef pie with a new thing called shortcrust, and as I'm eating, my son Jean enters the room.
"Bonjour ma mere," he says cheerfully.
"Bonjour mon fils," I reply, "I am going to see the duke of Burgundy today." He doesn't reply to this, I know that he doesn't like the duke.
"Jean when I tell you something," I begin,"It is polite for you to respond when I te-"
"Mother you know I can't stand the duke," He says calmly, " he is obnoxious and selfish and is more concerned with obtaining money to forward his ambitions than caring for the people of France!" He is yelling now.
"Jean, " I speak slowly and calmly, so he does not interrupt," It is not appropriate, or safe, for you to discuss such things and voice such views, and if you wish to, you may leave my chambers and do it of your own accord!" I am gritting my teeth as I speak, in an attempt to stop myself from yelling.
"How can you say this?" he shouts, "You write about virtue and goodwill but in real life you know nothing of these things!"
"Get - out," I try to maintain my composure, I can see the two maids peeking around the corner on my left.
He storms out and I return to my chamber. I sit down in the bed and put my face in my hands. How can he act like that? Haven't I raised him properly? Given him the best education, taught him kindness and courtesy? Given him and his siblings all the love that is possible? I think of his sister, Antoinette gone to live in Poissy with Marie, the daughter of King Charles V. I think of his brother, Marcel. Sweet, kind Marcel who wouldn't harm anything, not for all the gold in Paris. Who wouldn't fight anything, even the cancer that cruelly stole his life. Usually thinking of this makes me want to sob for hours, but not today. No, today I have to see the Duke of Burgundy, and I must be composed. For if the nobles won't read my books, then who will?
I leave my chamber, ready to depart. I wonder what the duke has to say to me?
Sometime between 1392 and 1402
I wake to the sun filtering in between the curtains of my room. I get out of bed and wash my face, then leave my chambers for breakfast. The maid brings me my breakfast, a beef pie with a new thing called shortcrust, and as I'm eating, my son Jean enters the room.
"Bonjour ma mere," he says cheerfully.
"Bonjour mon fils," I reply, "I am going to see the duke of Burgundy today." He doesn't reply to this, I know that he doesn't like the duke.
"Jean when I tell you something," I begin,"It is polite for you to respond when I te-"
"Mother you know I can't stand the duke," He says calmly, " he is obnoxious and selfish and is more concerned with obtaining money to forward his ambitions than caring for the people of France!" He is yelling now.
"Jean, " I speak slowly and calmly, so he does not interrupt," It is not appropriate, or safe, for you to discuss such things and voice such views, and if you wish to, you may leave my chambers and do it of your own accord!" I am gritting my teeth as I speak, in an attempt to stop myself from yelling.
"How can you say this?" he shouts, "You write about virtue and goodwill but in real life you know nothing of these things!"
"Get - out," I try to maintain my composure, I can see the two maids peeking around the corner on my left.
He storms out and I return to my chamber. I sit down in the bed and put my face in my hands. How can he act like that? Haven't I raised him properly? Given him the best education, taught him kindness and courtesy? Given him and his siblings all the love that is possible? I think of his sister, Antoinette gone to live in Poissy with Marie, the daughter of King Charles V. I think of his brother, Marcel. Sweet, kind Marcel who wouldn't harm anything, not for all the gold in Paris. Who wouldn't fight anything, even the cancer that cruelly stole his life. Usually thinking of this makes me want to sob for hours, but not today. No, today I have to see the Duke of Burgundy, and I must be composed. For if the nobles won't read my books, then who will?
I leave my chamber, ready to depart. I wonder what the duke has to say to me?